The Danger of Dreams
by RuthanneReid
Summary: Dreams don't always tell the future - do they? Sometimes they set do set people apart; and suffering in that condition, Hisoka is forced to face a new enemy that somehow has the ability to destroy souls.
1. Default Chapter

The Danger of Dreams: Prologue 

It was a dark and stormy afternoon.

Miko Tsuabuki ran, head down and arms up, trying to make headway through the rain without getting too much of it in her face. Of course, this meant she had some near misses with both telephone poles and people, but such was the price of wearing contacts in bad weather. 

She splashed toward the bus stop, squishing in her dress shoes and only thinking of the relative dryness of the bus; and naturally, that was when she fell. 

Dress shoes abruptly slipping in opposite directions, Miko crashed to the sidewalk and skidded painfully along the rough concrete, watching helplessly as her briefcase somehow went flying from her almost to the curb. And ahead, through the sheer grey curtain of rain, she could see the bus pulling away. 

"NO!" she shrieked, slapping the sidewalk and splashing dirty water into the air. Another moment and the bus driver would have surely seen her; now, she had to wait for another hour. Furious, frustrated and finally beginning to cry a little - it had really been quite a day - Miko tried to struggle to her feet, wincing as she finally began to register just how much damage she'd done to her knees. 

And then suddenly, the rain directly over her stopped.

She looked up, surprised to find a man's legs dressed in men's white dress pants standing beside her, connected to a man in all white who was currently holding an umbrella - curiously blood red - over his head and hers.

"It looks as though you've had an accident," the man said in low, articulate tones, and something about his manner made her think he was a doctor. Or perhaps it was just the stethoscope she could see peeking out of his coat's inner pocket.

"I.... yes," Miko said, feeling embarassed and noting vaguely that the single earring he wore matched his umbrella; very striking. "I... I'm sorry to bother you, but could you...?"

The man offered her his hand without another word; and no one in the world of living humanity heard from Miko Tsuabuki ever again.


	2. DoD I: Ecstasy

The Danger of Dreams, Chapter One: Ecstasy 

The Meifu was truly beautiful this time of year.

If it seems odd to you that the government territory of the dead should be beautiful, fear not; the dead men and women who worked there had never lost their wonder of the place, and some of them had been employed by Ju Ou Chou for well over 50 years. 

Sakura petals, windswept and torn from the trees by the same breeze in which they now danced, covered large portions of the ground, seeming to magnify the light and giving the entire property an ethereal glow. The building - large, domed, and imposing - stood as an edifice of power in the center of it all; the end of every path, its very existence stood as a testiment to Man's overwhelming desire to organize.

Even after death.

Inside the Meifu, seemingly normal people ran about busily at seemingly normal jobs, filing papers, making phone calls, and chatting across cluttered desktops. However, they were not normal. As previously stated, every one of them was dead - but the differences did not stop there.

These people were shingami; "death gods," if you wanted a literal translation, although they would likely have laughed in your face had you tried to treat any of them like deities. To be shinigami required a sense of unrest after death; such an overwhelming need for completion upon leaving the mortal plane that the person in question would do anything - literally anything at all - to make things right. To get revenge. To see justice come to those who needed it. To deal with unresolved mental, emotional, and spiritual issues.

This is where the Ju Ou Chou came in.

Those who had recently died with such a heavy burden were given the choice; simply go on to what lay ahead of them, or be willing to work for the Ju Ou Chou - which was Japan's bureau for processing the deceased - in official capacity, dealing with unusual problems, supernatural murderers and other difficulties that human law could not handle. Helping to balance out the number of accidental deaths vs. "scheduled" deaths, occasionally fighting demons, and in the process, getting a chance to go back to earth - and possibly make things right.

As a result of this, most shinigami were not, honestly, the most stable people in the world; but then, that was the reason they were required to work with a partner. The "partner" clause helped to prevent maverick shinigami incidents and keep the hired shinigami on track toward their missions. It usually didn't last too long; most put in their term of service, saw to completion whatever it was that had been bothering them, and then quit - moving on to whatever awaited them after death. But then there were those who felt more at home here and now than they ever had while living; those few who, in death, had finally found where they belonged - and naturally, never, ever intended to leave.

Tsuzuki Asato was one.

* * *

The Gushoushin, official record-keepers of the Meifu, looked grimly at the sheaf of paper before them, not seeming to mind at all that both of them looked like nothing so much as large, floating chickens with very strange fashion sense. Fortunately for all, Tsuzuki had long ago ceased to think of chickens when he looked at them, so he was able to take this intensity seriously. 

"Eeeeeeh?" he said, somehow managing to look grievously put upon and guiltily red-handed at the same time.

"There is no question," said one of the chickens, its voice high and its gender undetectable. "We followed the trail to this very room. Tsuzuki-san, confess!"

"Confess, Tsuzuki-san!" the other Gushoushin echoed, and Tsuzuki's eyes seemed to grow in proportion to his attempt to shrink into his chair. 

"But it wasn't me..." he insisted, tears turning his violet eyes to jewels. "What? It wasn't! I swear!"

"Tsuzuki-saaaan," one of the Gushoushin growled in high-pitched warning; but before the the interrogation could continue, the meeting room door swung open and three men entered the room. 

Tatsumi Seiichirou, department secretary and rumored real head of the Shokan Division, paused in the doorway and eyed the room's three occupants with cold consideration. His eyebrows arced. "Is there something I should be aware of here?" he suggested dryly, adjusting his glasses so the lenses caught the light like knives.

Tsuzuki somehow managed to look even more guilty. "....no?"

Tatsumi sighed and walked past him to the other end of the table, taking his seat. Behind him, Watari Yutaka smiled cheerfully at Tsuzuki and the Gushoushin and sat with his back to the windows which lined the far wall, placing in front of him with tender care something that looked like a dismantled toaster.

"Hello!" he said, smiling, and began tinkering with the toaster without even looking at it.

"Hi," said Tsuzuki, drooping now because the Gushoushin were apparently still determined to be mean to him. 

The third person who entered the room simply grabbed the closest chair and dropped into it immediately, neither greeting anyone in the room nor looking at anything besides the pattern on the floor. Hisoka Kurosaki was by far the youngest shinigami in the division. He'd died at 16 - an unusual age to have banked that much inner turmoil - and was still relatively new to the Meifu. 

He was also Tsuzuki's partner.

"It is time to begin," Tatsumi began, but was interrupted.

"Tatsumi-san, make them stop looking at me," Tsuzuki begged, still hunched in his chair and looking miserably at the two Gushoushin, who continued to glare. 

Tatsumi sighed again. "Gushoushin, please - "

"He stole all the cookies from the library!" one of them began, and Tsuzuki somehow managed to shrink a little more.

"Enough. Not. Now." Tatsumi didn't need to shout. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and then the Gushoushin sighed as one.

"All right, Tsuzuki-san," said the one in teal. "If you say you didn't - "

"I didn't!" Tsuzuki insisted, perking up.

" - then I suppose you didn't." Another moment of silence. "Will you be needing us, Tatsumi-san?"

"No."

And they left.

Tsuzuki seemed to have dropped a huge burden from his shoulders; leaning forward onto the table, he sighed, smiled brightly at the other shinigami, and happily turned his attention back to Tatsumi. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome. Now. This is the incident which has come through to our department." Tatsumi stood, handing out neat, shiny black folders to each man at the table. "Inside you will find what little information we could gather. The police cannot handle this case; therefore, we must."

Tsuzuki, like the others, opened his folder once he received it, prepared to leaf through the information inside; but what rested on top stopped him cold.

Paper-clipped to the top documents in the folder was a set of photographs. And in these photos was a collection of spatters and oddly shaped pieces of flesh that clearly used to be people. Each photo, upon inspection, was of a different person; although the only way Tsuzuki could tell that was because the torn pieces of clothing were different patterns.

"There have been three murders in all," Tatsumi said, his own folder opened and his manner apparently unaffected by the photographed carnage. "All of them occured in the Kurasaki building, on the thirty-third floor, around four thirty in the afternoon."

There was silence for a moment as each person perused the information and the photos, each thinking their own private thoughts. Hisoka finally voiced his.

"So why did this come to us? It says here investigation has only just begun; it's not out of their hands yet."

Tatsumi adjusted his glasses. "Because of this," he said, and slid one more photo across the table. This one was different. Not taken on Kodak paper or that of any of its competitors, this photograph had clearly been taken by one of the cameras Watari had developed - which was able to capture the spiritual happenings of a scene as well as the physical.

"What..." Hisoka said, his attention riveted for the first time in the meeting. "It... that can't be the soul..."

"It is the soul," Tatsumi affirmed. "It has been torn to pieces."

There was silence.

"Hm," Watari said finally, still tinkering with his toaster. "I know of no demon in our database that can do that. So it's either something very, very new - or very, very old that took a really long vacation."

"Correct," Tatsumi affirmed. "This was the case with each soul; the damage done is irreparable. The Earl has been forced to send each one beyond the House of Candles and allow them to fade."

Silence.

"How many, again?" Tsuzuki asked, leaning on the table with one hand, no longer looking at the photograph.

"Three," answered Tatsumi.

Tsuzuki's eyes closed tightly, eyelashes trembling for a moment as he grieved for these people he did not know; to be "allowed to fade" was normally something reserved for the most horrible of beings - for those who could not be reformed, could not be resurrected or reincarnated, for whom nothing remained but blackness. It meant banishment beyond the House of Candles - into Nothing. 

His voice was thick. "Clues."

Tatsumi did not look at him. "None, Tsuzuki-san," he said, almost apologetically. A moment later, he continued. "Now, Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi said, adjusting his glasses and putting his notepad down. "This is, technically, in your jurisdiction. However, the Earl feels this poses such a level of danger that you and your partner will not be able to handle it on your own." He paused for effect. "It damages souls directly; which means that, if it attacked you as a shinigami, you would likely be destroyed."

"I understand," Tsuzuki replied quietly, face down and eyes in shadow.

"Therefore," Tatsumi continued. "Should you and Hisoka wish to either garner extra help - or, conversely, simply not go at all - the Earl has sanctioned a complete changeover of personel for this case." 

"No."

Silence thickened between them. Tsuzuki looked up, his eyes gone dark purple in his determination. "And I should let somebody ELSE go in there to get hurt? Forget it. I'm going."

"You mean you're BOTH going," Tatsumi gently reminded, and indicated Hisoka with a nod of his head.

Tsuzuki blinked. "Hisoka?"

"Bon?" Watari asked, using his pet name for the boy. 

Hisoka grunted.

"Hisoka?" Tsuzuki asked again, and kicked him under the table.

Hisoka turned and glared malevolently.

"That's better," Tatsumi said, pleased that Hisoka was paying attention again. "We will start by infiltrating the building itself," he explained, but was once more interrupted.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about THAT," Watari said, apparently speaking to his toaster. "Everyone appreciates you for what you are - now trust me. This spring DOES go into that slot..."

Tatsumi simply continued; no need to press a lost cause, after all. "Roles have been assigned; Tsuzuki, you and Hisoka will enter the work force tomorrow morning, as analyst and maintenance, respectively."

"Um...Hisoka," Tsuzuki said, trying not to look worried. "You don't have to go."

"Of course I'm going," Hisoka interrupted, and without another word, stood up and marched out, slamming the door.

Everyone stared. "Well," Tatsumi said, adjusting his glasses again.

"Hm," Watari beamed. "You'd better hurry after him!"

"Yeah," Tsuzuki said, rising from the table. 

"Tsuzuki-san," interpolated Tatsumi, and a hint of something almost... warm.. shone in his eyes. "Be careful."

Tsuzuki nodded; and shut the door. Tasumi gathered his papers and left to make his report to Konoe, his boss; and Watari remained for a short while, working on his toaster and talking to it when he thought it was lonely.

* * *

The dreams always started the same way, and try as he might, Hisoka couldn't make them go away.

Hands. Hands would come to his body, touching with cool flesh and smooth skin all the secret parts of him he wanted so much to keep hidden, touching - gently, as if trying to convince him there would be no pain to come. But there was pain; there was always pain, and that was the part that played endlessly in his soul.

Fortunately, Tsuzuki woke him up this morning before he could start screaming. 

"Good morning, Hisoka!"

The voice pierced through the fabric of Hisoka's dream the way his murderer's knife had pierced his skin, and Hisoka jumped awake. Making a noise suspiciously like a growl, he threw one arm over his face to block the light and registered where he was.

Tsuzuki stood in front of the 12 foot high latticed windows, drapery fisted in each outstretched arm as sunlight poured into the room. Clearly, he was fascinated with this Western-style hotel the two of them were staying in. "It's a fabulous day, Hisoka!"

"Ugh," Hisoka said in response - not really at Tsuzuki per se, but certainly in his general direction - and pulled the covers over his head.

"Awww, come on, Hisoka," Tsuzuki said, tugging gently at the top of the bundle that was his partner. "I'm sorry we didn't get more sleep last night - "

"It took you FOUR HOURS to find the hotel," Hisoka accused, muffled beneath blankets.

" - but we have to settle into the routine here, and there's nothing to worry about. This place is GREAT!"

Hisoka sighed. "You found a bakery, didn't you," Hisoka muttered, not releasing his blankets.

"Cake shop!" Tsuzuki exclaimed, and all but clapped his hands. "Now come on - we have to report to work in twenty minutes. Get dressed, Hisoka!" And Tsuzuki bounded out of the room, on a sugar high and ready to break this case wide open.

Once the door had been closed and silence took Tsuzuki's place, Hisoka sat up slowly, the sheets sliding from his chest to pool in his lap. Tsuzuki could be annoying sometimes; Hisoka, however, could forgive him because he was finally beginning to understand just how Tsuzuki worked.

The forced cheerfullness and optimism Tsuzuki often wore was sometimes actually self-defense from the accusing voices in his mind - a usual shinigami trait. Everyone had their own techniques for dealing with the morbid reality that came with this job; if he and Hisoka were unable to break open the mystery, the killings would continue. 

And Tsuzuki would blame himself for absolutely every one.

"Idiot," Hisoka muttered to himself, sliding off the high Western-style matress onto the floor. Tsuzuki was really something else altogether. Tsuzuki, who irritated and endeared in the same breath; Tsuzuki - who had not one, but TWELVE shinigami at his beck and call. That was baffling; as of yet, Hisoka hadn't even managed to get one.

Except for the cactus. But that really didn't count. 

* * *

Tsuzuki straightened his coat and tie, looking in the mirrored walls of the elevator and trying to look professional. He'd never really been the businessman type; dying young and without a job had left him without much of the discipline most shinigami had, which meant that this suit felt a little like a cage. 

Hisoka, on the other hand, looked too young to fake the role of an adult bussiness man; so instead, he had taken the job of a part time janitor. As Tsuzuki straightened his tie, Hisoka straightened his work coveralls and scowled. The elevator stopped, and both men stepped into the hallway. 

"Ah - Mr. Asato - no, wait, Tsuzuki!" greeted an effusive blonde man who was standing in the office door, abruptly leaping at them both and grabbing Tsuzuki's hand. "I'm Charles Olford, and on behalf of everyone here, welcome to the Kurasaki Hydraulics corporation!" He shook Tsuzuki's hand very hard.

"I'm... uh..." Tsuzuki tried, but Olford opted not to let go of his hand; instead, he dragged the surprised Tsuzuki after him into the office and begin a forced tour of the current layout of operations.

"We're all SO glad to have you here," Olford was saying. "And your resume is IS very impressive, so our office manager made sure you got a cubicle near the windows - you have a GREAT view! Now, I don't know how much you know about American-Japanese merged corporations, but basically it means we have an exchange program of sorts going, and that's why I'm here. Hail from Detroit! Eh heh. Anyway, over here we have the schematics for the Titellar cruise line's- "

Hisoka stared after them for a moment, marveling that anyone in this world could be effusive enough to make Tsuzuki quiet. Shaking his head and resigning Tsuzuki to his fate, Hisoka began to explore. One benefit he'd learned long ago to being a hired hand: no one actually sees you.

Hisoka began walking around the perimiter of the office, matching what he saw with the diagrams the Gushoushin had provided, and noting with irritation that the ebullient Olford could be heard no matter where he went.

"Ah, and that's Carol - say hello, Carol, this is Tsuzuki-san from Tokyo, and - no, don't you make those eyes at HIM! Ha ha, isn't she great! She's just hoping you're single, Mr. Tsuzuki, and by the way, ARE you single? 'Cause if you ARE then I know just the right places to go around here, and - oh no, sorry to hear that. Well, over here we have the plans laid out for the latest version of Splash Mountain, located in - "

Tsuzuki's replies - if there were any - were lost in the low, white noise of a busy office. Hisoka deliberately blocked the American idiot out and kept walking. 

By his second time around, he'd noted all the entrances and exits; scoped out which offices were enclosed, and considered what extra doors they might have inside; checked out all the fire alarms; noted the distinct absence of any religious symbolism at all in any of the visible cubicles; and found the place where the second to last person had died. 

There were no signs of murder. No evidence of the splattered guts, shredded tendons and burst blood vessels that had so decorated the photographs he had the folder back in his room. Hisoka had to admit that whomever had cleaned had been very thorough. 

Hisoka suddenly stopped, surpised to find Olford right in front of him, reading his nametag and making as if they'd known one another for months.

"And THIS is our maintenance man! Hee-soh-ka. Good kid, very good kid - always thorough, you should've SEEN what he did with this place a week ago. And over HERE - "

Well, there went HIS credibility, Hisoka thought to himself, mentally drawing a red "x" next to Charles's name. Tsuzuki - already appearing harried - looked helplessly at Hisoka as he trotted by, tethered invisibly to his tour guide and pleading silently for a rescue. Hisoka sighed. 

"Mr. Tsuzuki," Hisoka said, walking after the two and holding an envelope in his hand. "You dropped this, sir."

Visibly grateful, Tsuzuki grabbed the envelope. "Oh - oh, THANK you! I'm sorry, Olford-san, but this is something I have to take care of RIGHT away and your tour was wonderful but I forgot all about this and I have to go now bye!" Casting adoringly grateful looks in Hisoka's direction, Tsuzuki hurried past toward his window-side cubicle, hopeing Olford wouldn't follow him.

Hisoka sighed. "Idiot," he muttered under his breath, and then realized Olford was still there. Hisoka began to turn away - and then he saw the look on Olford's face.

Charles Olford, CEO in training and stockholder of the Kurasaki Hydraulics coroporation, stared after Tsuzuki with absolutely no expression on his face whatsoever. His eyes were dead. His jaw set, his easily smiling lips set in a straight line, he had frozen to such an extent that for a moment, Hisoka wondered if he'd died. Then suddenly, he perked up and turned to see Hisoka watching him. He smiled. 

"Hey, kid, smooth move there, thanks a lot for that I just couldn't get that guy to shut UP, you know? Boy do I owe you! Dinner some time, 'kay? On me! Say, next time though - just a little advice, kid," he said, leaning closer as if to say something personal and filling Hisoka's air with his aftershave. "Try to be a little less obvious, okay? You walking around here dressed like that, it's not good for business." He flicked a speck off Hisoka's coveralls. "Kapeesh? Allrighty, then. You're a good kid, I like you. Ciao." And with that, he grabbed Hisoka's hand, thrust a 500 yen note into it, and spun off.

Hisoka stared after him, visibly disgusted; how he'd kept from hitting this man, he would never know. Mentally sending himself a memo to avoid Mr. Olford-From-Detroit any time in the future, Hisoka shook hi shead and continued his reconnoissance. 

It didn't even occur to him until afterward that Charles had touched his skin - and he'd felt nothing at all.

* * *

"Oooh, this IS fascinating!" Watari exclaimed with contagious joy; unfortunately, he was talking about his toaster, so his ebullience failed to infect.

"Hisoka, Watari," Tatsumi reminded not quite gently, adjusting his glasses and watching Hisoka closely. Watari put the toaster - newly sentient, he'd named it Bob - down and looked at Hisoka, smiling as he leaned on the table.

"All right now, Bon," he said, his manner disarming. "Tell us exactly what happened, and we'll see if something is wrong."

Hisoka glowered. "I touched him. And I felt nothing. All right? Case closed." 

Tatsumi frowned. "Hisoka-kun, the issue is not that simple. You're an empath; you channel other people's emotions through physical touch. If you've lost any of your spiritual ability - "

"I have NOT lost ANYTHING," Hisoka proclaimed, glaring. "I'm beginning to regret that I even reported this nonsense. Now if you want to test it, hold out your damned hand, and I'll tell you whatever you're thinking and that will solve THAT!"

Watari clucked. "Now, Bon, there's no need to get upset - " he started, and then Tsuzuki burst into the room. 

"Save me, Tatsumi," he pleaded, falling at Tatsumi's feet and grabbing the knees of Tatsumi's slacks. 

"Tsuzuki!" 

"They're after me again, they don't BELIEVE I didn't take their cookies, I don't know what to DO..." Tsuzuki said, and then he burst into tears.

"...Tsuzuki," Tatsumi said softly, unexpected tenderness filling his gaze.

"Toast?" offered Watari, and then suddenly, the alarms went off.

"RED ALERT... RED ALERT..." The four shinigami froze, then bolted as one for the door, heading for the main meeting room, where their boss Konoe would be waiting for them with news. 

Konoe stood as they entered, his face grim with ill news.

"Another," he said, and held up a photograph.

In the picture - passing beyond the borders of the lens, so condensed in the center that it looked like a spill instead of a splatter - was what remained of a young, pretty woman in a spotted dress. They could tell she was young and pretty because her severed head gaped at them from the upright chair in the background. 

"What... when did THIS happen?" Tsuzuki demanded, trying to recall if he'd met this person during his tour of the downtown highrise.

"Just now," Konoe said, and looked behind them. "Gushoushin!"

The Gushoushin appeared, looking less than well. "It... the same thing happened," one of them tried to say while the other waved its arms in warning, "but this woman had some kind of protection on her soul and it did a - " 

A deafening roar suddenly shook the room, drowning out whatever the Gushoushin had to say and shaking plaster dust down from the ceiling.

"What the hell - " Hisoka started, and another roar - closer, and accompanied with a rotting, fetid smell - sounded outside the conference room. The building began to shake, in the wake of these sounds or because of the footsteps of the thing that made them, Hisoka could not tell. There was a third roar - and sudden chaos broke out.

The row of windows facing the west side shattered completely, spraying the shinigami with glass and admitting more of that horrible odor; the floor was suddenly shaking so badly that Hisoka could not keep his feet. Stumbling backwards, he lost his grip on the table, missed Tsuzuki's outstretched fingers, and fell helplessly toward the door - 

- where IT was waiting, he KNEW IT was waiting, and there was nothing he could do, he was falling, he was dying, he was - 

"Good morning, Hisoka!"

Hisoka jumped awake and stared. The ceiling above him stared back, apparently unaffected. 

...a... dream? 

"It's a fabulous day, Hisoka!"

All of that had been a DREAM? 

Well, apparently not all of it; Tsuzuki's jacket still had a small coffee stain on it Hisoka had seen him acquire the day before on lunch break. 

"Rrm... where?" he managed, and Tsuzuki smiled at him. 

"We have 30 minutes this time! We're early. Come on - if we get moving in time, we can stop at the cake shop on the way!"

Hisoka glared blearily.

"I'll buy you something frosted," Tsuzuki promised, winking outrageously, and Hisoka relented.

"Fine, fine," he said, he said, flopping back onto the bed. . "Just lemme get dressed, okay?" Tsuzuki beamed and left, all but skipping into the hall. Hisoka could hear him humming.

...what had happened here?

It was true that Hisoka suffered from bad dreams; but they were never like this. His always had to do with the past, and he knew for certain nothing like that had ever happened to him. Then what had....

"Come ON, Hisoka!" Tsuzuki called from the hall, and Hisoka sighed and zipped up his coveralls. Muttering a little, he resigned to deal with today and analyze things later. Today would bring whatever it would bring, regardless of what he thought of it. 

They had a job to do.


	3. DoD II: Empathy

Chapter Two: Empathy 

_The man stands before his altar, and on its base he bows. He pours blood - lamb's blood, pig's blood, and human blood, not a little of it his own - over the rough stone stone of power, and then steps back to wait._

_He need not wait long. The demon he has called appears before him almost anticlimactically, hovering over the alter in amorphous evil, and not bothering to look beautiful because the man did not want it that way. The man falls on his knees in response before it; and then, it speaks._

_"Why have you called me here?"_

_"To fulfill the bargain this blood has wrought, " the man replies, his voice hoarse and almost unrecognizable with fatigue._

_"And what is the bargain of this blood?" speaks the demon, forming two almond-slanted eyes - one yellow, one red - because it scares the man and he enjoys it._

_"For those who are shinigami," replies the man, rising on his filthy knees and raising rusty hands stained with ichor._

_"Shinigami?"_

_The man's face lifts in triumph. "For Tsuzuki Asato," he says, and clenches his fingers so tightly they crack._

_"It will be done. Release me," says the demon; and the man - using means not suitable for description - does. _

_"Tsuzuki," he breathes, body trembling now with the strain of what he has done. "Soon... soon you will be mine." His voice fills the cavern, echoing in sordid emptiness. "....mine."_

And Hisoka awoke with a scream. 

* * *

Watari loved his job. 

All shinigami had, along with the basic bag of magical tricks, a special or unique talent - and Watari's was certainly unique: he had the ability to make drawings, machines, and other inanimate objects come to life. No one was quite sure how he did this; but considering that Watari was a man whose long-term goal was to invent a formula that enabled the drinker to change genders, it was felt by the general public that the wise course was simply not to ask questions.

Which worked just fine for Watari; he didn't mind being alone. He had his machines, and sometimes his drawings, and also, a small, round, pet owl which he kept near him almost all the time. The owl - named 003, perhaps in contrast to the mechanical Bobs and Jasons he had scattered around his workplace - was quite an enthusiast of Watari's work, and had been trained to "clap" its wings together to praise him every time he accomplished something. Watari was completely content.

Hisoka had initially been surprised to find that no one worked alongside Watari. The pervasive optimism that characterized Watari's outlook was apparently disconcerting to some people, which made no sense to Hisoka; to him...

It was like a port in a storm. Even if he'd die before admitting it.

Watari seemed to be incapable of feeling really anything truly negative; no matter what was going on - demons, Muraki, vampires, Muraki, criminals, Muraki - whatever the problem, Watari's attitude remained essentially unchanged, a steadiness difficult to find in the afterlife. The most he would do was occasionally shout at people - usually a warning - or perhaps lose just a hint of the peace in his eyes. 

This was important because Hisoka was an empath. He channeled emotions; it wasn't something he could choose to do or not. The moment he was unfortunate enough to touch someone, that person's reality and experience flooded into his being without restraint, without warning, often overloading him - and always hurting.

That never happened with Watari. And as far as Hisoka could tell, it never would. 

"Hello, Bon!" said Watari, looking up from his desk; 003 was clapping, so clearly he'd just accomplished something. "Do you want some toast?"

Hisoka made a face. "Um... no," he said, and wandered a little closer. He looked around, taking in the usual neat piles of scientific bric-a-brac that lay scatterd everywhere. "Watari," he asked. "Does your database have much information on dreams?"

"Mmmm... let's see," Watari said, putting down the blueprints he was studying and turning to his computer screen. "We do have a fairly extensive set of information from various cultures dating back to Babylonia. What did you need, Bon?"

"Premonition," Hisoka answered without hesitation; and Watari tilted his head. 

"You need a premonition?" he repeated, smiling innocently, and Hisoka glared at him.

"No. I don't need _a_ premonition. I need _information_ on premonitions. Baka," Hisoka insulted, spitting the last word in such a way that 003 jumped.

"Maa, maa," Watari soothed, waving one hand negligibly and wheeling his chair to the next computer terminal over; there were five total in the room. 003 followed him, hopping along the desk. "Let's see, dreams, dreams, dre - ah. Here we go; 'Dreams: Premonition and Foreknowledge.' Is that what you wanted, Bon?"

"Yeah. That's it." 

Together they leaned toward the monitor while Watari - clearly mouse-happy - scrolled through page after page of information. Hisoka seemed disappointed.

"That's **_it_**?" he challenged. 

Watari blinked. "Most of it."

"Well, where's the rest?" Hisoka blurted, straightening and looking terribly irascible.

"The rest, bon?"

Hisoka sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You know what?" he said. "Never mind. Just... never mind." And he headed for the door.

"Bon - wait! Bon...?"

But Hisoka was gone.

Watari settled back in his chair, scritching 003 thoughtfully and gazing at the door. "Mmm. Well, THAT'S not good," he muttered to himself. "Bon seems more irritable than usual, don't you think?" He was addressing Bob, who, in response, sprang two pieces of golden-brown toast at him.

Watari sighed. "You're SO sarcastic today," he said, and went back to work. 

* * *

Everything happened too quickly. 

Hisoka showed up for work on time the next morning. Well, naturally he did; he was responsible, in spite of his youthful appearance. Duty was something that he took very, very seriously.

Of course, that didn't mean he enjoyed it.

Kurosaki Hisoka had been sixteen when his life was taken from him; physically, he would never grow any older. It was an odd thing, to age eternally and never show it; to be a thirty year old trapped in a sixteen year old body, a forty year old, an eighty year old. No matter how long he lived, his appearance would never change. He already felt embarassed that none of the other shinigami were quite as young physically as he was; he had really only just begun puberty in earnest when he'd died.

Technically speaking, it was something of a mystery that Hisoka remained a shinigami. He'd initially taken the job so he could find out who had killed him and possibly exact revenge - but that was all past. The reason for his death had been given; his revenge had not. Muraki was so far out of his reach as to almost be a colossal joke.

So why did he stay? Why did he continue to work, day in and day out, surrounded by what he felt was mocking condescension and rampant insanity?

"Hisoka!"

The reason was very, very simple:

"Oi - Hisoka-kun!"

Tsuzuki Asato.

Tsuzuki beamed and bounced up to him, waving a fistful of take-out menues and speaking quite rapidly. "I have to go to lunch with Charles so could you keep an eye on things he's being a really great source thanks a lot Hisoka bye!" And with that, he ran.

Hisoka sighed; it seemed that weird ability Tsuzuki had to make everyone love him had already worked its dubious magic on Charles, and Hisoka was on his own for now. He watched the elevator doors close behind his partner, wondering how Tsuzuki always managed to behave as though every ounce of attention was a treat to his starving soul. 

It didn't matter now. Tsuzuki could have the attention; Hisoka didn't want it, and besides - he had work to do. Stopping first at the janitorial closet, Hisoka gathered the few cleaning supplies he needed to complete his costume, and then began the miserable job of working the thirty-third floor.

It took him a few hours; he made his way around various offices, conspicuously invisble in his bright orange janitorial garb, really wishing that people would stop saying things just because they assumed no one could hear them. By the end of the first hour, Hisoka was half-convinced that there was not a faithful married man in the building; by the second, he was sure that all of them had at least one crime-lord connection and/or were possibly gay. By the end of hour three, however, he'd changed his mind. By then, he'd realized that they were all stark raving mad.

The really annoying thing that while all these unwanted details were readily available, the information he actually wanted was not.

No one seemed to care about the three horrific murders that had occurred in their midst. No one believed it was serious; no one considered that it might be repeated, and most of all, no one thought it could possibly happen to them. To his disgust, some of them even joked about the incident - making comments about ground beef and other crude analogies, as if this were something to be spoofed on TV and not a tragedy that had yet to see it's one-week anniversary.

Now, it was true that none of them really understood what had happened, but even so - they should have at least been scared. At least somebody should have been sorry for those who died, and for the familes of those who were gone. It was inconceivable even to Hisoka's jaded mind that no one showed a hint of compassion; however, this was exactly the case, and after a while, it began to wear on him. Eventually growing tired of the ceaseless, foolish shallowness of the lives he was trying to protect, he retreated to the nearest stairwell for a breather. Hot in his orange jumpsuit, he unzipped it and sighed, appreciating the air conditioning cross-drafts and taking the moment to unwind. 

It was blessedly quiet. He sat for a while, enjoying the silence and wondering what kind of lunch break Tsuzuki was on that took more than three hours. That idiot Charles had probably dragged him to Kyoto, or something. 

Well; it wasn't important. Come to think of it, it was hard to consider anything important at the moment, half because Hisoka just felt so _good_, and half because comfort like he'd never known was stealing for no apparent reason over his skin. Clearly, he must have fallen asleep; comfort like this had never been known to him, not even when he was alive.

Oh yes, he'd definitely fallen asleep - now he had proof. After all, he saw the monster, but he knew it had to be a dream. How else could he feel no fear?

Sleepy and pleasanty relaxed, Hisoka studied it. The creature was probably eight feet long from head to foot, but it walked hunched over almost double so that it was barely taller than he. The skin - if it could be called that - looked like old lava, but it moved with a weirdly undulant suppleness that belied description. The eyes were the disturbing part, though; the eyes - solid red, shaped not at all symmetrically, intelligent - and very, very alive. Its gaze flicked over Hisoka as he watched the monster dully, noting that it of course had no sound, no smell, and no feel, since it would have had to be real for those to be palpable.

At any rate, it didn't seem to have much interest in him; the thing looked him over slowly, and then continued on its way. Moving with a strange, unnatural gait, it walked straight past Hisoka and through the door.

Without opening it, of course. Since it wasn't real.

Afterwards, Hisoka had no idea what had come over him, but he never forgot how it felt. Such a complete sense of lassitude, a total lack of fear, a lack of anger, and a warmth of perfect contentedness filled his spirit that it really didn't seem like the smart thing to do to confront the beast or call for help, even after people started screaming. Feeling calm and honestly happier than he ever had in his life, Hisoka rested on the stairs. He stretched, placed his arms behind his head, and fell asleep.

* * *

"Hisoka!"

The voice was miles away.

"Hisoka! HISOKA!"

...inches away?

"HISOKA!" And then somebody slapped him, right across the face.

"Wha..." Hisoka mumbled, feeling as though he were coming out of the deepest possible REM sleep and not at all coherent. His vision took a moment to clear; he felt warm, relaxed, almost slightly buzzed. Perhaps this was why he stared for a few moments at Tsuzuki without recognition of either who he was or the fact that he was clearly feeling ill.

Tsuzuki stared back, breathing hard. He held Hisoka upright with both fists in the boy's uniform, only just now returning from the edge of panic he'd felt when Hisoka had not responded to his initial calls. Even now, he didn't feel completely relieved. Hisoka looked drugged. Cradling the younger man to him, Tsuzuki stood and transported them both to the hotel room. It made no sense to wait; Hisoka was clearly not going to be of any use in the current situation. 

Besides. It was too late to save anybody else.

"Hisoka?" he asked quietly, shaking his partner gently as he laid him on the bed. He noticed with a guilty flinch that the boy's cheek was swelling slightly where he'd hit it.

"...'zuki?" Hisoka mumbled showing his first sign of recognition since Tsuzuki had found him. He blinked slowly, as if there was molasses over his eyes. "Go 'way. Lemme 'lone. Wanna go back to sleep..."

"Oh, gods," Tsuzuki said roughly, did his best to make Hisoka comfortable. "You stay here. You... gods, as if you were going to GO anywhere...."

Hisoka didn't answer. He was as limp as a sleeping cat. 

Tsuzuki tucked Hisoka into bed, taking off his partner's shoes and then leaving him to his rest. Perhaps it was better this way; the scene of the crime was so horrible that Tsuzuki did not wish it on anybody else.

The police had not yet arrived simply because there was no one left to call them; at least this meant that Tsuzuki had the chance to explore undisturbed. 

It seemed whatever was doing this had personally applied the principle of progessive satisfaction, which stated one had to go beyond one's last goal in order to receive the same amount of pleasure. The gore was everywhere; on every wall, under every desk, embedded in every crack and crevice in the room. It had even been ground into the ceiling tiles. 

"...horrible," Tsuzuki said weakly, looking at the room. No one was left alive; no one had been spared. He did not need Watari's special camera to know that all of these people had been dealt the ultimate deathblow: their souls had been ruined like tissue paper in the rain.

Hisoka was the only survivor. Perhaps the culprit could not see dead people? But no, that made no sense - clearly it had done SOMETHING to him; Hisoka was as clingy and overtired as a tranquilized child. Trembling slightly, Tsuzuki covered his nose with his sleeve and returned to the front of the room. 

"Blurg," Charles said, or something very close to it. Looking very ill, he leaned against the doorframe, the color of his face matching the worn green carpet; wetly, he burped.

"Gonna... call the cops now," he said, perhaps a question, perhaps not.

"Yeah," said Tsuzuki. He had not known all these people who died; he had not needed to.

They'd died on his watch. That was all that mattered.

"I'm gonna do that right now," he said, and feeling heavy in both heart and soul, he picked up the phone.

* * *

The thirty-third floor was now considered off-limits.

This seemed like a logical step, of course, and the police chief had wondered loudly and repeatedly just why it had not been done before. It was fairly clear that some sort of a maniac was on the loose, and that he/she/it/they really liked the thirty-third floor.

Of course, the men who ran the company had had no answers. No, as they'd said before, there had been no threats, no kind of absurd competition - corporate personal, or otherwise - and for the last time, they did NOT know who could have done this. Their concern was that the show had to go on, and as the hour was late, there was really nothing that anybody could do so maybe everyone should just go home. The police would be sorting body parts for the next couple of weeks, anyway, and even when all the bits were picked up, the room itself was going to have to be gutted. Nothing in there was salvagable; it was a complete and total loss.

The business managers wept over the ruin of their data in disks and computers; Tsuzuki wept over the ruin of life. And Charles proclaimed so often and so loudly that he had NOTHING to do with it that the police decided to give him extra special attention. 

For Hisoka's part, he had done just what he'd said he wanted to do: slept. He slept for nine hours straight without even moving so much as an inch, even when Tsuzuki took him home; and by the time he finally came out of his odd stupor, Tsuzuki had already had time to give his report and receive his verdict.

Hisoka blinked at Tsuzuki as he woke, who sat beside him. Tsuzuki's hands were in his lap; he looked guilty, unhappy, and quiet.

"We're off the case," he said first thing, not really giving Hisoka a chance to get his bearings. 

"....what?" Hisoka said. Case - wait, what had...

"We're off the case. They're calling in the big guns."

...case. And he'd - and they'd - 

"Oh, shit," Hisoka emoted, putting his face in his hands, and Tsuzuki smiled weakly.

"Yeah," said Tsuzuki, and shuddered just a little. He was obviously not well - his cheeks were pale, flushed with red. "That about sums it up." His eyes, focused on something far away from Hisoka, filled like weeping crystal and sent fresh tears down his cheeks. "None of them survived."

And Hisoka, who was only beginning to understand what it meant to Tsuzuki to lose people's lives, watched him sadly and had nothing to say.

* * *

"Well, YOU'VE had a busy couple of days," Watari said cheerfully at them as they entered his lab. "I have marmalade now - do you want some toast?"

Neither Tsuzuki nor Hisoka had the energy to answer him.

Watari sobered. "It's not your fault - either of you. Really, cheer up - it looks like the Earl pulled you off because it was just getting far too dangerous for your own good, you know? Don't take it so personally," he soothed, and then brightened. "After all, it's not like you're fired, or something - you've only been reassigned!"

Tsuzuki rubbed his eyes. "Yeah," he said, trying to put a good face on it. "That's not so bad, right? But I think I need to get some sleep before I take on this new assignment," he said, looking the very picture of puppy-dog weary.

"Oh, you certainly can do that; nothing like extra practice at the laziness that comes to you so naturally."

Everyone in the room straightened; Konoe - head of the entire division - swept into the room, filling it with his presence and his voice. Tatsumi was right behind him.

Konoe looked sternly at his two disheartened employees. "Well?" he said, which could mean just about anything.

"It wasn't his fault!" both Tsuzuki and Hisoka said simultaneously, and pointed at each other.

Tatsumi sighed. "Listen up, you two. The failure of this particular step of the mission has nothing to do with either one of you. In fact, your reassignment is actually still part of the case - it's not a punishment, but a precaution. You just won't be so much on the front lines. As it is, there's a danger you could be recognized." He looked pointedly at Hisoka.

Tsuzuki's entire face lit up. "You mean it?" he asked. "We're still on the case?"

"...I don't know about this," Hisoka replied dubiously. "What do you mean, not on the front lines?"

"Don't argue," said Tatsumi, and handed them both manilla folders. "Here are your new assignments." He adjusted his glasses as he watched them read. "What little information you were able to gather in this two day period has been fed into the computer along with what we know from the previous deaths. Your new assignments seem to us the most likely sources for you to explore."

"The temple at Shigoto?" Hisoka said, eyeing Tatsumi with grave doubt. "That's crazy. They don't even eat anything with blood in it over there - what could they possibly have to do with this?"

"Don't argue," Tatsumi said again. "There has been a 28.2% increase of negative energy generated in the temple area in the last three weeks," he explained. "It's all there in your report. We don't know if it's related or not, it's not worth taking the chance. Watari, their new gear."

Tsuzuki and Hisoka both looked blank as Watari handed them each a small, black piece of equipment.

"It's sort of like an extra hand," he explained, pointing to the devices. "Tsuzuki-san, this is a multi-functional two-way beeper - or at least, that's what it looks like. It's really a much more complicated communications device, but nobody needs to know that just by looking. You can surf the web, tap into any network, and contact us at any time. Oh," he added, "and its name is Kirby."

Tsuzuki looked fascinated.

"Bon, your cell phone doubles as a stun gun."

Hisoka stared in disbelief. "You gave me a stun gun?"

"I'll have to show you how to work it, of course - don't want you knocking yourself out," Watari said.

"You gave me. A stun gun."

Watari blinked. "Don't worry, it's not alive," he assured. Well really, who'd want a living stun gun?

"What, my own gun's not good enough?" Hisoka sounded offended.

"Not for this, Bon. You have to ride on an airplane. This, at least, you can take with you."

"...an airplane?" Hisoka repeated, looking lost. He looked to Tsuzuki for help, but none was to be found there; Tsuzuki had discovered that his new beeper could talk to him via the small text window at the top, and his attention was riveted there.

"Argh," Hisoka said.

"If you're both quite ready," Tatsumi interrupted, trying to bring the topic back around, "I will be giving you the details of your assignment shortly. The three of you will go to the temple in the Shigoto area, where you will pose as tourists and meet with a pre-arranged contact. The rest of your information is in your folders. Any questions?"

"Three?" asked Tsuzuki, and Watari waved. 

"I make it three - four, if you count 003. Which is almost an oxymoron, but not quite."

Hisoka looked as though he were getting a headache, but he simply nodded. It was no use arguing. Grimly, he went to pack his things and prepare to leave. There was much to be done.

And sitting at the computer console, Tsuzki became fully acquainted with his new beeper and smiled.

__


	4. DoD III: Entropy

**Chapter Three: Entropy**

"I'm telling you, this is a wild goose chase," Hisoka said again, glowering out the airplane window.

"It's really not that bad, Bon, and you know, **I** think maybe you should try to get some sleep on this trip. You're looking a little peaked."

Hisoka turned to glare at Watari, who smiled back with an effortless cheer that almost made Hisoka feel guilty for being in a bad mood. Almost.

"I. Am. Fine," Hisoka said, and looked back out the window.

"If you say so, Bon; but if you want a sleeping draught or something tonight, just let me know - Tsuzuki said you've been waking up lots lately."

...Tsuzuki said? Argh; so people HAD been talking about him. Well, that was wonderful, just wonderful. Clenching his jaw, Hisoka determined to stay awake for the rest of the flight, refusing to say even another word. Perhaps his paranoia was justified.

Meanwhile, Tsuzuki, for his part, had never been on an airplane before. His wide-eyed curiosity was such that he couldn't stay in his seat, but instead had gone roaming around and asking questions. It was a sure thing that if he hadn't been quite as endearing, the stewardesses would have grown angry; as it was, however, they only wanted to adopt him.

"Oooh, and what does THIS do?" he asked.

"Well, this cabinet here opens up - like so - and contains all the tiny peanuts we'll be giving you for your journey," one of the stewardesses said, smiling her brightest and thinking what LOVELY eyes this young man had.

"Peanuts?" said Tsuzuki, growing slightly misty-eyed. "You're giving us FOOD?"

"...aww," the stewardesses said out loud without meaning to, and eventually sent Tsuzuki back to his seat loaded down with complimentary snacks. He couldn't possibly have been any happier. 

The captain's voice came over the loudspeakers, mentioning some random information about the altitude and what could be seen outside the window. Hisoka scowled.

"Why the hell are we in an airplane, anyway?" he grouched to no one in particular. "We could just have GONE there."

"No, we had to have the experience," Watari said cheerfully, concentrated on folding his vomit bag into a swan. "It has something to do with fitting in at the shrine. They'll be able to tell, you know."

"No, I don't know. This is stupid."

Watari put his half-formed swan down and looked at Hisoka; for a rare, rare moment, he wasn't smiling. "Bon," he said quietly. "What's wrong with you?"

Hisoka was quiet for a long moment; his eyes turned toward the window and his gaze clearly somewhere else, he finally opened his mouth and started to answer.

"PEANUTS!" Tsuzuki announced, and flopped into the seat next to Watari.

Hisoka jumped; he served his partner a glare that would make titanium melt, and then went back to looking out the window. Tsuzuki, unaware of what he'd done to earn such a look, shrunk a little and looked guilty.

Watari was back to smiling; he knew Hisoka wasn't going to talk now. "Oooh, you got PEANUTS!!" 

"Peanuts!" Tsuzuki reiterated, and began to share the wealth; Hisoka ignored the shiny packets they tossed into his lap.

"I don't know if they give this many to just anybody, so I think we really need to eat as many of them as we can so no one feels bad," Tsuzuki said, giving his personal philosophy. Watari nodded. 

"Oh, well, of COURSE we can't disa-"

A new voice interrupted. "Disappoint? No, no, you don't want to do that. It would truly be heartless."

Tsuzuki and Watari turned; standing by Tsuzuki's seat, looking somehow even more pristine and lovely against the dingy off-white of the airplane's interior, was someone none of them had expected to see.

"...Muraki," Tsuzuki whispered, looking stunned, and Muraki moved right up against his arm rest.

"Tsuzuki-san," he purred, feathering his fingers lightly through Tsuzuki's hair, and Hisoka hissed.

"You!" Hisoka accused, and tried to lunge out of his seat without first removing the seatbelt; Watari, aware of the innocent and ignorant people around them, placed his hands on Hisoka and pushed him down. 

"Oh, you must be Muraki," he said, holding the struggling Hisoka down with a frightening one-handed ease and placing his other hand on Tsuzuki for reassurance. "We didn't know you were here."

"I'm sure you didn't, or something would have happened already," Muraki said, looking highly amused. His eyes, always intense with that possessive brand of hunger, ranged over the three men before him. "I do hope Suzaku doesn't decide to visit us in here; there really isn't enough room to function, you know. These aisles - so cramped." And he stretched, arching his back and tossing his head in a way that earned him highly appreciative looks from other people in the cabin.

"Mm, that's nice," said Watari, clearly unimpressed. "Please go away now."

There was silence for just a moment; then Muraki smiled. "As you wish - ah, I don't know your name?"

"No, you don't," Watari said, and smiled quite brightly.

Muraki chuckled darkly. Turning back to his seat - and just brushing the skin of Tsuzuki's cheek with his fingertips as he did so - he continued chuckling, finally disappearing behind the curtain that led to first class without looking back.

"...how did he know? How did he...did he...." Tsuzuki was speaking quietly, but his voice was too high, edged with panic.

Hisoka's, on the other hand, had gone deeper; he growled. "Fucking bastard... I'm gonna kill him! Lemme go! Let GO!"And then he jumped; Watari's eyes were barely an inch from his own.

"Shhhhh," Watari said, one hand on his shoulder. "We're in public, Bon; you need to keep it down." His voice grew even more quiet. "And Tsuzuki needs your strength - all right?"

Hisoka stared for a moment, unused to this almost invasive closeness, and glanced beyond Watari to Tsuzuki.

Tsuzuki hadn't moved. His eyes locked onto the first-class curtain as though it were the gate to hell, he sat utterly still, hands gripping the arm rests, face pale, a spill of shiny silver peanut packs across his lap.

"Tsuzuki," Hisoka said. "Tsuzuki."

After a moment, Tsuzuki looked.

"It's all right. He can't get us. We won't let him. Okay?" Hisoka wondered if the lie he felt showed in his eyes; he dreamed of Muraki. And in his dreams, Muraki always won.

Tsuzuki latched onto the security Hisoka offered like a drowning man to a buoyant piece of wood. "Yes. Okay. I'm going to the bathroom now." And scooping up the peanuts, he scurried down the aisle toward the back and slipped into the restroom cubicle, locking the door behind him.

"I think he'll stay there for a while," Watari said lightly, and resumed trying to fold his swan. "Thanks. He appreciated that, you know."

"Yeah," Hisoka muttered, looking at his hands; they were clenched in his lap, trembling, and pale. Yes, for Tsuzuki's sake, he could be strong; but there were times he had to wonder if anyone would do the same for him.

* * *

The group of three standing huddled by the baggage claim was worthy of notice for a few reasons. They were beautiful, for starters; all stunning to a man, every angle and inch perfect and without flaw. Of course, the fact that they were also acting paranoid was a fairly effective deterrent to anyone who wanted to bother them. 

One of the three, blonde, somewhat effeminate, seemed to be the calmest. "Oooh, poor 003," he said, darting forward quickly to pluck a small perforated box from the belt; he was back between the other two before most even registered he'd moved. "Mou, were they nice to you?" he spoke into the box, holding it up and peeking inside the air holes.

"All right, we're done," said Hisoka, looking around and clutching a dark blue duffle bag to his chest as though it contained something priceless. "I don't see him. Let's go."

"I... this isn't my bag," said Tsuzuki with a miserable quaver in his voice, looking more closely at the burgundy duffle bag he'd mistaken for his own. "That means we have to... we have to..."

"Was there anything in it that you can't replace in the local stores?" Hisoka demanded, and Watari started to say something.

"No, there wasn't - _"_

"Then let's go," Hisoka said, and Watari placed his hand on both Hisoka's arm.

"Now, fellows... you're freaking out a little," he soothed, trying for the logical course, but the look he received in response from both his companions made it clear there would be no further discussion.

"Ah... well, okay," he said, acquiescing, and without another word, Tsuzuki and Hisoka each grabbed him by one elbow and steered for the door. 003, his box tucked tightly under Watari's arms, flapped in an irritated manner.

"Mou, I'm sorry," Watari apologized to the uncomfortable bird as they left the airport. "I guess some things can wait for no man...."

Hisoka made a face. "Look," he hissed at them both. "Let's just GET a taxi, GET to the damned temple, and DO what we came here to do. Why we can't just transport, I don't know -"

"Energy traces!" Watari said cheerfully, and Hisoka continued.

" - but I say we get in there, get done, and get out. There's nothing here we need to look at, anyway."

Watari started to say something, and then suddenly, he lurched. "Oops!" he said, and came to a stop. "Are you all right, Tsuzuki-san?"

Tsuzuki didn't bother to answer because he'd was busy picking himself up off the floor. "I'm SO sorry!" he was exuding at the young woman whose boxes he'd tripped over, and proceeded to concentrate on trying to help her put them all back on her cart. The girl, for her part, was anything but upset; in fact, she seemed amused.

"I'm SO sorry, and - oh no, is this breakable? If it is, I'll pay for it, and ah, I didn't mean to sort of hold it too long I'm not a robber or anything oh here, let me get that..."

Hisoka sighed and rubbed his face. "Tsuzuki," he said, then gave it up. If Muraki wanted to catch them, he'd have had plenty of time by now; so this meant instead of directly attacking, he was stalking. Great; just great.

"Oh... no, I've got it," the girl was saying, plucking packages from Tsuzuki's arms and piling them back onto her cart; there were quite a few. The pile, nearly completed, was almost as tall as she was.

"Thank you for being so kind," she said, and Tsuzuki beamed.

"I'm sorry I knocked everything over - I hope it's all right," he said sincerely, and the girl smiled at him without blushing - quite a feat.

"Everything's fine. And I think your friends are waiting for you."

Tsuzuki turned to see Hisoka's impatient scowl and Watari's smile; he blushed and shrugged, rubbing the back of his head. "Eh... better go, now. Um... bye."

"Bye," she said, still patient, but not at all trying to be alluring, and Tsuzuki backed away. She watched him until he'd rejoined his friends and the three of them - huddling as if they expected demons to come out of the floor any minute - exited the building.

"Silly," she said quietly to herself, and resumed pushing her cart.

* * *

"You know you didn't have to do that," Hisoka said, apparently making up for his earlier stint of silence by twice as much arguing. Truth be told, he was frightened for Tsuzuki, and frightened badly; the appearance of Muraki always meant psychological and physical attacks on his partner, and although he would never admit it, he was worried.

"Well... YOU could have helped," Tsuzuki said feebly, and hunched down a little in his seat.

Watari, still between them, patted both their legs in the most absolutely non-sexual, comforting way imaginable. "Now, now... what's done is done. We need to get to the hotel and then see if we can schedule a tour for the temple tonight."

"...schedule a tour?" Tsuzuki asked, surprised. "Um... doesn't that seem a little... weird?"

Watari nodded. "It's part of the problem; this temple, once one of the Great Repositories back in the days of Ang, now has pretty much been turned into nothing but a tourist trap. You have to actually schedule a tour to go in and see it."

"Guess they don't have many converts," Hisoka muttered at the car window, and Watari shrugged.

"It's not their goal, Bon," he said. "And since they're doing what they wanted to complete, I guess it's safe to say that they're a success."

003 seemed to agree; finally free from its box, it perched happily on Watari's shoulder and snuggled under the covering of his hair, against his neck. After a ruffling, muffled "hoot" of concurrence, it closed its eyes and went to sleep.

"Awww," Watari said, his own manhood clearly not threatened by the acknowledgement of something cute. "Now, THAT'S a Kodak moment!"Having no idea what he meant, his friends looked at him oddly, then gave up trying to understand. The rest of the trip to their hotel was silent.

* * *

"I'm just SO glad they accepted owls at this hotel!" Watari said happily, walking with a spring in his step and his hands in his pockets. Slighty behind him and to the left, Hisoka and Tsuzuki walked side by side. 

"After the security deposit we had to give them, I don't feel grateful," Hisoka muttered in justifiable irritation, since the deposit had come out of his wallet.

"We'll get it back, Hisoka," Tsuzuki encouraged, smiling hopefully - although his smile was still at only half-power, which Hisoka pretended not to notice.

_Be strong for Tsuzuki, strong for Tsuzuki... _"Yeah, sure. I'll believe that when I see it."

And in total disregard for the discussion behind him, Watari interrupted. "We're HERE!" he announced, executing a little skip and tossing his hair for joy. Tsuzuki and Hisoka looked up, and gaped at what they saw.

The temple of Shigoto was huge; utterly, excrutiatingly big, not at all humble or modest or in any way remotely a denial of the flesh. Gold edged the scrolls and lettering engraved into the stone of the frontispiece; promises and wishes of health, wisdom, and humility hung from the rooftop, fluttering prettily in a light breeze. People - mostly foreigners - moved in and out of the temple in a constant stream, chatting, laughing, and taking pictures. Tsuzuki made a face. 

"What the hell is THIS?" he demanded, sounding oddly offended.

"Tourism!" Watari replied, and joined the nearest line of people going into the temple. 

"...why did we have to go on the plane, again?" Hisoka asked as they were walking through the entrance, and Watari pointed.

"See that?" he said, indicating men in hooded monk's robes standing against the distant walls on either side, cloaked in shadow.

"Whoa," said Hisoka.

"Exactly," Watari said. "This temple's going through a weird, weird phase right now; you see, the CORE of it is still powerful - still what it should be, really. But the outer edges - the management, the landowners, whatever you want to call them - are going in exactly the opposite direction. It's common enough for religions organizations these days; if they want to survive, they have to make money - but if they're 'spiritual,' they'd prefer to focus on other things. This place just happens to be the posterchild for the conflict."

While Watari was speaking, the three of them had finally reached the front of the line. A smiling young man, his head shaved, was standing there, accepting "donations" as a sort of pass into the temple. Technically, they couldn't force someone to give, of course - but a "suggested donation" of 3500 yen per person was deemed perfectly reasonable for the artifacts and floor show ahead. 

One by one, all the people smiled right back at the young man and dropped the yen into his seemingly bottomless basket. "May you find freedom from your belongings," he blessed them all, and if he saw the absurdity in what he was doing coupled with what he was saying, it didn't show on his face.

Watari finally stepped up. "Hello!" 

The bald priest looked at him. "Greetings, traveller." 

Watari beamed; the priest smiled. No one moved; and then, as if his arm had grown tired, the priest "accidentally" shook his basket a little; coins jingled.

"Ooh - oooh, yes, ah - Bon? Do you have it?"

Looking startled for being called upon the second time in as many hours to cough up the cash, Hisoka glared hard at Watari as he walked up to give the priest the suggested amount. He knew Tatsumi would pay him back from the Meifu's fund later, but that wasn't the point; it seemed he was simply the only one of them frugal enough to have that kind of money on hand as they wandered around.

"Sankyuu!" Tsuzuki blurted in butchered English, and the priest smiled and waved them on. There was no wish for them to be free from their belongings; all three men noticed, but as they walked, no one brought it up.

The entrance hall was utterly cavernous. The ceiling arched so high above them that it was greyed with dust motes and distance; perfectly carved, it was more beautiful than many buildings they'd seen over the years. There was no furniture of any kind - empty, ancient stone greeted them, and it resembled nothing so much as an empty Catholic cathedral - with one exception: there were no windows. The hall grew darker as they walked.

Hisoka was muttering. "...next time one of YOU guys get to pay..."

"Hey," Tsuzuki said quietly, walking a little closer to his companions. "Those guys in the cloaks - they're following us."

All three of them were more than expert at this point in subtely looking around; a moment's observation showed that this was indeed the case.

"Well, that's unfortunate," Watari said, and Hisoka looked at him.

"Why?" 

"Because we have to get into the inner sanctum - they're probably security, and we really don't want to use any magic or powers or they'll probably panic."

Tsuzuki sighed. "Too right; they'll sense our energy more than they do already, and won't know what we are. So what do we do?"

"Well, this is where being on the airplane was important!" announced Watari, one finger pointing in the air. "By being near so many people (in travel especially) for such a long time, we picked up some of THEIR energies like burrs - it happens to everyone, you see. However, it makes us feel a little less weird. We should be able to blend in after a while goes by and we haven't done anything."

"And you really couldn't have explained that to us earlier?" Hisoka asked in disbelief, and then Watari suddenly stopped. Hisoka bumped into him, and Tsuzuki bumped into Hisoka; altogether, they were lucky they didn't bowl over the person who'd moved up to stop them.

This person, as a matter of note, did not seem to find it odd that they'd piled into one another. "Pardon me," he said, hands folded neatly together inside the sleeves of his yukata.

"Yes?" asked Tsuzuki, who seemed to have gotten his act together first.

"Are you the three from heaven?" said the man, and the three companions blinked.

"Um... not exactly?" offered Watari, but the man seemed satisfied with his own conclusion.

"We've been waiting for you," he said, and bowed very low. "Please - this way." Swiftly, he turned and began walking.

"Well... THAT'S unusual, too," Watari said, scratching the top of his head. "What do we do? Tsuzuki?"

Tsuzuki was aware on some level that the authority of this choice had been shunted to him; serious, not smiling, he watched the retreating man for a moment and came to his decision. "Whatever else is going on, I don't think he means us harm. He believed what he said. Come on - if we get into trouble, we'll deal with it." And he followed.

Watari nodded, pleased that Tsuzuki had taken the lead, and turned to Hisoka. "Shall we, Bon?"

Hisoka watched the man and Tsuzuki with great depths of suspicion, not liking it, not liking anything, but the fact remained that he would follow Tsuzuki to the ends of the earth if need be - not that he was consciously aware of that. "Right," he said, and steeling himself, took off after Tsuzuki.

Watari smiled as though this were all exactly as he'd hoped it would go and trailed after, content to be last.

* * *

Being in first class, Muraki had of course exited before everyone else. It would have given him enough time to lie in wait, it was true, if he'd planned on some sort of sneak attack; but since his business here had nothing to do with Tsuzuki or any of his lovely companions, there hardly seemed to be a point. Miracle of miralces, the airplane had landed ten minutes early, and Muraki intended to put that extra time to use.

Leaving the airport and hailing a cab, he made his way to the wealthier hotel district and finally got out at Palm Way. The street was aptly named; twenty meter tall Yaeyama palm trees from the island of Ishigak had been transported to the main land, lining the streets on both sides in many-fronded splendor, and the buildings on either side had definitely been designed to match. Elegant glass and steel gleamed everywhere; one bold architect had even included pink stucco imitation in an attempt to increase the slightly exotic feel of the atmosphere. Ignoring it all, Muraki walked on. 

Ocean wind stirring his hair, he finally came to the end of the walkway, which terminated at a line of soft, white sand leading down to the ocean. It was beautiful; a resort rare enough to cost an arm and a leg and make its patrons feel every minute was worth it. Standing and watching the surf for only a moment, Muraki sighed walked into the last hotel on the pier. 

It had a completely different design inside than out; no longer continuing the theme of metal and glass, the inside of the hotel abruptly transported its guests to feudal Japan, including ornately painted paper dividers and folded paper lanterns with electrically lit bulbs cleverly hidden inside. All the employees walked with their hands neatly folded inside their sleeves, faces painted white, hair artfully coifed on top of their heads. Ignoring them all - but earning appreciative and slighlty lustful looks from all he passed - Muraki went into the nearest elevator and pressed the button for the seventh floor. The elevator was new, well maintained, and quick; within only a few moments, he had reached the room that was his goal.

Pulling a key from his pocket, he entered without knocking. The smell of blood, acrid and metallic, wafted into the hall as he opened the door; most of it dissipated almost immediately after he shut it again, but not quite enough. In the end, blood could never be completely washed away, and this was something Muraki knew too well. Amused, he spoke for half an hour to the person waiting for him in the room, and then he left.

He wondered if he should warn Tsuzuki. No... perhaps not; it would be far more interesting just to see what would happen.

Humming a cheery song, Muraki went home and thought on the subject no more.


End file.
